


We'll Lay Here for Years or for Hours

by i_am_made_of_memoriies



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Drinking, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbians in Space, Memory Loss, Nastya is a violinist AU, Nastya is going through it, post-Out, this is because I am a violinist and I can not write nice things about violas, we went ham in sad mechs hours today, well we'll get there eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25419352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_made_of_memoriies/pseuds/i_am_made_of_memoriies
Summary: A coat, a name, and a patch.or, Nastya wakes up on a planet that she does not recognize and finds that she can remember almost nothing.
Relationships: The Aurora/Nastya Rasputina
Comments: 76
Kudos: 101





	1. A Shard

**Author's Note:**

> we really went ham in the sad-mechs-hours channel of the mechscord today, huh? and because of that I was legally obligated to speed-write a fic  
> thanks Nat for the idea! and thanks to everyone else who contributed lovely bits of angst (also thanks to the cain instinct group chat for one particular obscure joke regarding driving)  
> also, yes I formatted this vaguely like Cyberian Demons what about it  
> working title: haha but what if Out was WORSE

A coat, a name, and a patch. 

The coat is somewhat oversized–navy blue and far too heavy for the climate of the planet she finds herself on. The name is foreign too. “Nastya Rasputina” does not sound like the names of the people on this planet, but it rolls off her tongue easily, as if she has had much practice saying it. The patch is beautiful and sewn onto the arm of the coat. She believes it is an embroidered starship; the colored threads are faded and a little fuzzy from wear. The patch is old. 

A strange language.

It is not the language of the planet. Nastya does not understand that one–no, this one sounds completely different. It is as familiar to her as common, yet she can put no location to the words. She can remember assorted sentences in that language, some comforting and soft, and some terribly, terribly harsh. But no names. No names other than “Nastya Rasputina”, and she believes that to be her own.

She is alone on this planet, as she was when she awoke, sprawled out in a field with nothing but a coat, a name, and a patch. When she awoke, she rested on the ground for a while, allowing light rain to collect in gentle droplets on her hair. There was something familiar about the cool breeze and rain, but of course, she did not remember. When she finally rose, she stumbled towards the town in the distance, tall buildings outlined against the grey horizon. 

She missed something–someone, but she did not know who. But the missing felt passive, a dull ache of someone long, long gone. As she walked towards the town, she tried to remember who she missed, but anything before waking up mere minutes ago was lost. She muttered a curse under her breath, but the word was not in Common, was it? She knew that one language she spoke was called Common, but what was the name of the other, the one that sounded like her name? Why did speaking in it make her ache? 

People hurried through busy streets, slick with rainwater. Shoulders brushed past other shoulders and mixed voices echoed in a chorus, bouncing off of the walls of tall buildings.

A shard:

_Jonny would have loved it here_ , Nastya thought. But why? And who was Jonny? And–she found that she could no longer remember the name. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, stumbling back into a nearby wall and sinking down to the damp ground. Why was she crying? She held her knees close to her chest, shivering even in her coat, but she was used to cold. 

“Are you alright, miss?” A voice cut through the low din. “You don’t want to be out here in the rain.”

Nastya picked her head up from her knees to look at the person speaking. An older woman was leaning down in front of her, hand outstretched. Instinctively, Nastya raised her hand to meet the woman’s. As soon as she made contact with the woman’s skin, though, an overwhelming feeling of danger washed over her. This ended badly for her last time, didn’t it? But why? What was last time? She snatched her hand back abruptly, her elbow slamming into the concrete wall behind her. 

The woman’s eyes grew in surprise. “I’m sorry! Did something happen?” she asked, taking a step back. 

Nastya shook her head, her eyes fixed on the ground. 

“I have some tea at home, if you would like to come with me and get warm. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Nastya looked up again. She wanted to get out of the rain so badly. God, she wanted to escape the bone-deep cold. She nodded slowly, rising to her feet, using the wall for help. The woman beckoned for Nastya to follow, the heels of her boots splashing in small puddles on the ground. 

“My name is Ama,” the woman said, leading Nastya through the busy streets. “And you?”

“Nastya.” She wrapped her arms tighter around her shoulders, her hands shaking in the cold. 

“What an interesting name. Where are you from, love?”

Nastya opened her mouth to answer, but she found that the words she was searching for were not there. “I don’t know,” she replied, her voice taut.

Ama nodded slowly, her steps slowing as she reached a vehicle, some kind of hovercraft. She placed her hand on the door and it opened with a distinctive click. Motioning for Nastya to get in the passenger seat, she slid into the craft in front of the steering console. Nastya obliged, ducking to enter the craft, which was a bit small for her long limbs. Her damp coat left a trail of water on the door and seat as she entered. 

Ama fiddled with the controls on the steering console, letting out a frustrated huff as the craft refused to start.  
“I’m sorry, it’s been acting up lately,” she sighed, pressing the power button another time. “I’d hate to make you walk if I can’t get this working.”

“May I try?” Nastya asked, shuffling closer to the steering console.

She placed her ear to the exposed metal and ran a gentle finger down it. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a spanner she did not even know she had and began to repair the craft. 

A shard:

“You have to listen to her,” Nastya murmured, her ear still fixed on the metal. “She will tell you what’s wrong.”

She fixed the craft with gentle fingers, putting everything back in place as soon as she finished. 

“She should work just fine now.” Nastya settled back down in the passenger seat, hunching her shoulders to take up as little space as possible. 

Ama raised an eyebrow in surprise, but attempted to start the craft again. It turned on smoothly, rising off the ground, the engine humming. 

“Oh that really did work!” She exclaimed, pulling out of the parking spot. “Are you a mechanic?”

That wasn’t quite right, Nastya could tell. Almost. It was  _ so  _ close. “Something like that, yes,” she said instead, grasping futilely at the memory of her old profession. She was met with nothing but emptiness.

Ama drove with a bit of reckless abandon, taking sharp turns and slamming the breaks at stops. Nastya could not help but smile. There was something nostalgic about erratic driving. After swerving through several intersections and making a few abrupt stops, Ama pulled into the driveway of a small, boxy house. 

Ama held the door open for Nastya, smiling as Nastya dried her boots on the mat before entering. Ama’s house was small, packed full with furniture, books, and plants. Her kitchen was cramped with only a refrigerator, sink, kettle, and a food-manifestor. 

“Would you like to take your coat off?” She asked, moving to help Nastya. “You’re dripping wet.”

Nastya nodded. It was warmer in the house, though she was still chilled to the bone. That made sense to her, but it shouldn’t have. She lingered in the entrance, watching Ama as she hurried about the kitchen, putting the kettle onto boil. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess in here.” Ama grabbed two mugs from a cabinet, polishing them on the sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t get many visitors these days.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nastya muttered, still rooted in the entrance.

Ama poured piping tea into two mugs, rooting around under the sink for a jar of honey. She brandished the jar triumphantly, placing it on the counter. 

“Would you like some tea?” 

Nastya nodded, finally moving into the kitchen. Her steel-toed boots hit the ground with a resounding thud as she made her way next to Ama. Ama handed her a mug, her face obscured by rising steam. As Nastya reached for the mug, her sleeve fell back from her wrist, revealing a data-port installed in her flesh. 

Ama took notice of it, her eyes widening in surprise. “What’s that for?” she asked.

A shard:

_ It really doesn’t matter what the ports are for,  _ Nastya thought.  _ I already put those ghosts to rest _ . Her breath caught as the image of a grey cityscape flashed in her mind, though she forgot what she had imagined seconds after. 

Instead, Nastya just shrugged, fixing her sleeve after she had a firm grip on the mug. “Can’t remember,” she sighed, easing herself onto an armchair across from Ama. 

“Forgive me if I’m being rude or intruding, but you don’t seem to remember quite a few things.” She didn’t meet Nastya’s gaze, blowing on the tea instead. “Are you alright?”

Nastya shrugged again. “Physically, I think I’m fine,” she said, turning her attention to her body for a moment. “I don’t remember much of anything, though. I don’t have the foggiest idea as to why.”

“You look awfully young. Were you in an accident?”

“I’m not young,” she insisted, the words forcing their way out of her mouth. 

Ama looked taken-aback. She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it shortly after, taking a sip of her tea instead.

Nastya took a sip as well, the warm liquid warming her throat and core. It was wonderfully spicy and aromatic, warm in temperature and flavor. 

“I have a spare bedroom here if you need somewhere to stay,” Ama offered, gesturing to a door down the hallway. “I’m assuming that you aren’t from around here.”

“What tipped you off?” Though Nastya feared her question would come off as sarcastic, she was genuinely curious. What made her obviously a foreigner on this planet?

“Your accent, first of all. I’ve never heard it before. You also just don’t look like a local. You’re much too pale.”

Nastya nodded and took another sip of tea, scanning the books that filled the living room. They had spilled from the bookshelves to piles adjacent to the couch and some piles pressed close to any bare piece of wall. Most of the titles were in a language Nastya did not know nor recognize. She wondered if she would recognize the language if she remembered anything at all. 

“I’d be very appreciative of a place to stay,” Nastya finally replied. “Why are you being so kind?”

Ama narrowed her eyes in thought as she tried to formulate an answer. “It’s only the right thing to do? You need a place to stay and I have room to spare.”

Nastya shrugged and nodded, finishing the last of her tea in one gulp. “I have no clothes or possessions, save my coat.”

“We can go to the market tomorrow,” Ama suggested. “I can buy you some things.”

“There’s no need for that. I don’t need money.”

“Oh you have money?” 

“No, but that doesn’t matter.” She would just steal whatever she needed. 

A shard:

_ Jonny would be proud of me _ , she thought, chuckling slightly. But the name entered her mind as swiftly as it left, and Nastya was left again with nothing.

* * *

Nastya woke up late the next day, pleased to find that she remembered all of the previous day just fine. The rain had stopped during the night and the clouds had receded, leaving the morning brisk and smelling of petrichor. She had borrowed an old pair of Ama’s pajamas that were quite a bit too small, but were certainly more comfortable than the clothes she had previously been wearing. 

After changing back into her own clothes, she exited her borrowed bedroom and met Ama in the kitchen. Ama had evidently been awake for a while, as she was fully dressed and pored over an old book. 

“Oh let me grab you some breakfast,” she offered, gazing over the rims of her glasses to see Nastya standing at the entrance to the kitchen. 

“Thank you.” Nastya walked towards the food-manifestor and graciously accepted the bowl of steaming breakfast Ama offered. It seemed to be some form of savory porridge. Nastya, of course, could not remember ever eating it before, but she certainly enjoyed it.

“We can head to the market as soon as you’re finished,” Ama suggested, placing her bookmark on her page and closing the book. 

“Yes, I’d like that.” Nastya finished her breakfast quickly, washing the bowl in the sink and shelving it. 

She tailed behind Ama, following her out the door and down the street. Apparently, the market was close enough to walk, and Nastya enjoyed the gentle morning sun. The market was less busy than Nastya expected, given her first impression of the city; about two dozen stalls were set up in the plaza, each selling both eccentric and practical wares. Nastya wasted no time perusing her options. Instead, she hurried to a stall selling clothes and nicked those that she knew would fit her, or were close enough that she could modify them. No one noticed her as she practiced her light-handed-ness and accumulated a wardrobe. 

Right as she was about to find Ama and leave the market, she saw the shape of an instrument out of the corner of her eye. The next thing she knew, there was a violin in her hands and she was playing a sweet lilting memory. She knew the words and she knew the song. Though she couldn’t sing along while she played, she could hear a sweet, almost angelic voice singing the lyrics:

_ When I was a little girl, my mother always told me: _

_ Someday your prince will come, my love.  _

_ But as I grew, I knew it was a princess who would hold me _

_ I looked to the stars for you, my love. _

As soon as she finished the last note, drawing it out and adding extra vibrato, she put the violin back where she had seen it. She was crying again. 

“That was really pretty, ma’am,” the shopkeeper said, appearing concerned about Nastya crying in front of them. “No one’s been trying to buy that instrument. You could, uh, have it for free if you want?”

Nastya wiped away her tears with the cuff of her coat, taking no time to try and understand the burst of emotion. 

“I’d like that, thank you,” she muttered, fastening the violin in its case and holding it close to her chest. 

Holding the violin felt so perfectly right, yet the feeling of missing someone only grew in intensity.


	2. I'll Look Through the Stars for You, my Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm realizing that every single fic I've written for the mechs is Nastya centric.....anyway it's because I'm a lesbian  
> Also, I know that Nastya is canonically a violist, but as a violinist, I could not, in good conscience, write paragraphs about how beautiful a viola is. Sorry guys

Nastya enjoyed the city quite a bit more in the sunlight. Following Ama home, she clutched the violin case close to her chest and enjoyed the warm sunlight as it glistened in the reflections of puddles beneath her feet. 

“So, you play violin?” Ama asked, walking slightly in front of Nastya, leading the way.

“Evidently,” she replied, smiling as she did so. 

“And the song you played? Do you know the name?”

Nastya struggled to find the words she had remembered merely minutes ago. She had remembered the whole song! She knew the words and the voice that sang it, but now, she was left only with the melody, and even that felt alone and barren on solo violin. 

“I-I can’t remember,” she muttered, holding the violin closer to her chest. “I still know the tune, though.”

“Well that’s something! It sounded beautiful, in my opinion, anyway, though it definitely was not from around here.”

“That would certainly make sense.”

Ama nodded and continued on her way back home. She eyed the bag of clothes Nastya held at her side suspiciously for a moment, but sighed and looked away. Nastya hoped that she was under the impression that some kind shopkeeper gave her the clothes out of the graciousness of their hearts. 

As soon as they arrived home, Ama held the door open for Nastya again, entering right behind her. 

“You can keep the violin in your room, or you can practice in the living room if it’s too cramped,” she offered. “I think I have an old music stand lying around somewhere from when my old partner used to live here.”

“I think I will practice in my room,” Nastya replied, stepping out of her boots and shrugging off her coat. “The space should not be an issue.”

Ama nodded happily. “Alright! In that case, I will start looking around for the music stand.”

“Thank you.” Nastya turned to go to her room, but stopped at the doorway. Instead, she turned back around to face Ama. “Where would I be able to find work around here? I’d feel quite guilty if I couldn’t pay you back for your kindness in any way.”

Ama placed a hand to her chest in appreciation. “That is very kind,” she said. “As for jobs, I’d have to ask around, but you play violin right? You could play at some of the local pubs and I’m sure you’d get a bit of money from that.”

A shard:

 _That’s only fitting, isn’t it?_ Nastya thought. _Except performing without the rest of them will be a bit lonely_. 

The rest of them? Who were they? And what was she doing with them again? Nastya sucked in a breath as the memory faded away. 

“Performing,” she said as soon as she collected her thoughts again. “Yes, that sounds like a good idea. I will have to ask you where the nearest pub is, though.”

“I’ll take you there once you have a program ready,” Ama offered. “Now I’ve got to do some reading before work tomorrow, so I’ll be busy for a bit, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Thank you for letting me stay here. I think I will go practice.”

Nastya turned around again, entering her small bedroom. She lay the violin case down on the bed, undoing the clasps with gentle fingers. Though she had played the violin already, she had been so out of it when she did so, she had no time to admire the instrument. It was truly a wonder that she got it for free; the violin was beautifully crafted with perfectly aged wood and smooth varnish devoid of any nicks or scratches. The strings, by the grace of some obscure god, were not old or dead or even unravelling at the bases. She weighed the instrument in her hands, running her hands delicately up the neck and cupping the finely carved scroll. Rotating the violin to look at its back, she was pleased to see that it had been cut from a single piece of wood, a relatively rare feature. 

After admiring the violin for a few more moments, she unfastened the bow from the case, tightened it, and placed the violin on her shoulder. Its weight on her shoulder and the cool presence of the chin rest under her head just felt _right_ , yet it did not make her yearn for something she could not remember. With a slow inhale, she began a slow scale to warm up, the low note resonating deep within her. The violin had a gorgeous, deep tone, resonant and rich in color; the lower strings were perfectly dark and rich, and the upper strings were bright, but not shrill. With only gentle amounts of vibrato, her notes reverberated against the walls of the room, enveloping Nastya in the sweet sound of her own playing. 

She warmed up with scales and arpeggios, paying no mind to how her hands moved into the right positions instinctively. She found no need in wasting her time speculating about how she came to know how to play the violin. She then transitioned into playing pieces she knew were for solo violin, though the names escaped her. Ringing double stops resonated deep in the body of the violin and Nastya could hear the Corelli tones of her perfectly tuned sixths. Next, she began to play the song she played earlier, and though she could remember the melody just fine, she still could not remember the words nor could she remember the voice that sang to her. 

Did someone sing the song to her? Nastya was unsure. Perhaps it was the same person who she missed so deeply. But Nastya found that she truly had no idea. With a huff, she placed her violin in its case and lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. She ran a slow hand through her hair and gazed blankly at the wall. Her gaze fell to the hem of her shirt, a simple button-down. Strangely, it was too small on her arms and evidently a man’s shirt, judging by the side of the shirt the buttons were on. It screamed “family” to her, though she had no idea as to why. 

Frustration threatened to overtake the low ache of longing as Nastya struggled to grasp any semblance of a memory. She knew she was missing something! How did she even get here–a planet on which she was obviously a foreigner, with absolutely nothing but the clothes on her back? Clothes that apparently did not even belong to her originally. Who had taught her the violin? Was it whoever sang with an angel’s voice? Or was it whoever gave her the shirt on her back? Or perhaps her parents? 

Shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts, she rose from the edge of the bed and slipped into the hallway, seeking out her coat. It hung on the coat rack, heavy and dark, the faded patch standing out against black fabric. Grabbing it off the rack, she held it close to her chest as she had the violin, burying her face in the rough material. She opened the door to her room quietly, pleased when it did not squeak on its hinges. Lowering herself onto the edge of the bed again, she lay her coat on her lap and ran a finger over the patch. 

A shard:

“ _Is it Nastya, playing resonances deep in the engines? Is it Nastya, echoing through the lower subsystems? Is it Nastya, falling asleep on structural girder 13279? Yes it is. Good night Nastya. I love you.”_

_“I love you too. Tomorrow we’ll adjust your algorithms and you will tell better stories. Good night. Sleep well.”_

Nastya found herself pressing a kiss to the patch, the ache of longing stronger than before. Yet even moments later, she still remembered the shard of conversation between her and her love. Her love, the starship. She could not quite remember her name beneath foggy layers of memory, but she remembered the warmth of an engine room and the heavy embrace of vents. Still, her longing for her love manifested in a form of mourning–a knowledge that her love was long gone. She ran another finger over the patch and shrugged the coat on, turning back to her violin. 

She picked it up again, running through more pieces ingrained in the muscle memory of her fingers. Soon, she found that she had an entire program–about an hour’s worth of music–ready. Loosening her bow and packing up the violin, she turned to the bag of clothing beside her door and began to put the clothes away. As soon as her room was tidied, she poked her head through the door, revealing the empty kitchen. She closed her bedroom door behind her, making her way into the small kitchen and bending over the food-manifestor. 

Nastya placed her ear to the top of the machine, listening for its voice. Once she heard what she had been listening for, she pressed the touchscreen, producing two bowls of tomato soup, leaving one in the manifestor for Ama. While eating her soup, her thoughts wandered back to her erstwhile love. Though she felt as though her love was far away, she wanted nothing more than to find her. But how could she find her without even a name?

* * *

Ama showed Nastya to the nearest pub the next evening, making herself comfortable in the back, nursing a glass of beer while Nastya sought out the pub owner. The pub owner was leaning on the wall adjacent to the door, watching patrons converse, drink, and eat in the warm pub. 

“You don’t seem to have anyone playing tonight,” Nastya told them, gesturing to the violin on her back. “I can play a little tonight, if that’s okay with you?”

The pub owner sized Nasyta up, raising an eyebrow as they did so. “I suppose,” they said. “You can play on that little stage up there and you can keep all the tips patrons give you.”

“Thank you, that is very kind.”

Nastya wove through the crowds of people, squeezing between tables until she reached the stage. Placing her violin case on an empty chair, she unpacked and began to tune, pleased to find that the pub had fairly good acoustics. She played through the pieces she prepared the day before, swaying with her violin as she did so. Still, she could not bring herself to play the pieces written specifically for solo violin, though she knew that it made more sense to play those. Something told her that those were not the pieces she was supposed to perform. Though she made that decision, playing the other pieces felt empty. She knew there were lines missing–vocals that were supposed to layer onto her violin line, and other instrumental parts that were supposed to provide harmony. 

Regardless, the patrons of the pub seemed to enjoy Nastya’s playing, tipping rather generously and applauding after she finished. She pocketed the money, packed up her violin, and wove through the crowd again to find the bar. Ordering a small glass of vodka, she sat comfortably in the corner, watching the patrons speak in excited tones and mixed languages. 

Finishing her drink, she made a decision. She would remain on this planet for a little while longer, playing in the pub, then she would search for her love. She knew that space was vast and that she was small, but she also knew that she would finally be home if she found her love again. 

A shard:

 _I’ll search through the stars for you, my love_ , she thought. With a small smile, she realized that she had remembered a line from the song she played earlier. It was not much, but she could hear the same angelic voice singing it and her smile grew. Perhaps the one with the voice of an angel was an old friend. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah I got a _little_ carried away with talking about violins.....look they're just great instruments!!


	3. A Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am I projecting my weirdly fancy speech patterns on Nastya? yes.   
> I keep writing a chapter and being like: yup this will be the penultimate one. and then I do it again. This will end eventually? I think?

Nastya frequented the pub, playing quick concerts every other night. The patrons consistently appeared to enjoy her music, quieting their rowdy conversation as soon as she began to tune, but Nastya knew that her music wasn’t complete. As she practiced, she found herself remembering more songs, though she only ever remembered the violin parts of them. She remembered some words to one song, though it was a piece of dialogue and felt hollow without the response. 

“Well, you could try kissing her!” She would say, a mischievous grin on her face. 

The response never came, nor did the words that prompted Nastya’s suggestion. Though the only one she could remember from her past was her unnamed lover, she knew by feeling alone that the dialogue was not between her and her lover, but with someone else. The old friend with an angel’s voice? The one who’s shirt she wore? Any memory on the subject was blank and painfully absent. Nastya sank onto the side of the bed, staring at the wall as she found herself doing with increasing frequency as the days passed. 

Her love was far away, this she  _ knew _ . She was not sure if “far away” acted as a euphemism in her mind for death, or if her love truly was across the stars in some far off galaxy, but she knew that she missed her sorely. Of course, she wondered what led to their separation. Nastya remembered nothing but love for her, so she could not imagine a world in which she left her. Perhaps there was an accident on board.

Nastya rose slowly from the bed, running a hand through her hair. She needed to find a starship as soon as possible, and though she did not have a destination in mind, she knew she had to take to the stars in order to rediscover her past. It was strange, piecing together her past based solely off of spotty shards of memory. Though she was not sure, she suspected that she had been a mechanic of sorts and lived on a starship that doubled as her girlfriend. If her memories of other singing voices were correct, she had not been alone on the starship. There was no one else with her when she woke up, though, so she was reduced to wondering what had happened to her shipmates. Had they abandoned her? Or was there an accident, as she suspected, scattering them all alone across the void?

She shook her head as if to clear the stream of thoughts, opening the door a crack and peering into the dimly lit hallway. Ama bustled around the living room, watering the many plants lining the windowsills and other surfaces. Upon hearing Nastya’s door open, she turned towards the sound, a small stream of water trickling from the watering can’s spout onto the floor; she took no notice of the spill.

“Are you hungry?” Ama asked, placing the watering can on the edge of the coffee table. “I was just about to get dinner ready.”

Nastya could not say that she was particularly hungry, but she had nothing else to do save practice and ruminate on a past that lay beyond her reach, so she nodded gratefully and joined Ama in the kitchen. 

Ama placed a bowl of steaming stew in front of Nastya and took a seat across the table, blowing on a spoonful of her stew, her braid of greying hair falling forward as she leaned over her bowl. 

“You mentioned that your former partner had a music stand,” Nastya said, sparking conversation. “What instrument did they play?”

“They were a flutist,” Ama replied, grinning as she did so. “They weren’t very good, but they would play for me every now and then.”

A shard:

The soft, breathy sound of a flute echoed through the library, punctuated every few measures by a strangely distorted “meow”. Nastya hummed along to the song as she repaired…something.

What had she been doing? And what did she remember hearing? The memory faded back into a haze as Nastya’s gaze dropped to her bowl of stew. She was growing more and more frustrated as time went on. Yes, she was beginning to remember small things–the tunes of particular songs, the fact that she had a former lover, and perhaps the fact that she was part of a crew on a starship. She had repeated that information to herself many times over now, hoping that by solidifying it, she could solidify a sense of identity as well. 

Ama seemed to take notice of her turmoil. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked, her tone apprehensive–worried that she was being intrusive.

“Well no, not really, but there is very little I can do about it at the moment.” Nastya took another bite of her stew. It was wonderfully flavorful. 

“It’s about the…memory thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. There is, obviously, a lot that I don’t remember. And I can not say I woke up in a normal situation. It is not often you find yourself in the middle of a field, memory wiped clean, on a planet that you do not recognize in the least. In addition, I do have reason to believe that I fell from space.”

Ama blinked several times, nodding slowly in response to Nastya’s statement. After opening her mouth to speak several times, she finally settled on a response. 

“When you get worked up, your cheeks flush silver, did you know that?” Ama’s eyes were narrowed as she observed Nastya’s face. “Perhaps that’s a feature of the planet you come from?”

“No, that is because my blood is not blood, but mercury,” she replied easily. 

Strange, Nastya certainly had not known that a moment ago. To her surprise, the memory did not fade away, though it did leave her with more questions than it answered. How could her blood be mercury? There was no plausible way that she could be alive. 

“I’m sorry, your blood is  _ what _ ?” Ama let her spoon clatter against her bowl with her exclamation. “That can not be possible.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“How does that even work?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.” Nastya turned back to her stew, ignoring Ama’s gawking. 

“You are  _ quite _ the specimen.”

A shard:

An ice-cold finger ran down the line of Nastya’s jaw with gentle precision. Nastya squeezed her eyes shut as the doctor added something to the IV drip. 

“Don’t look so frightened, Princess,” the doctor cooed, resting her hand on Nastya’s shoulder. “You really are the perfect specimen.”

“I would rather you not call me that,” Nastya said as calmly as she could muster, though the memory had already faded. 

“Oh I’m sorry.” Ama finished the last bite of her stew, taking Nasyta’s empty bowl to the sink as well. “You seem to be remembering certain things, though. That’s good!”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Nastya replied, pouring herself a glass of water. “The information is minimal and far-between, though. I can’t make much of it.”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. It’s lonely when it’s just me, anyway.”

Nastya offered Ama a grateful smile. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was your partner like?”

“Oh they were lovely!” Ama’s face lit up at the mention. “Their name was Ness and they were a brilliant mathematician. Don’t worry, they’re perfectly fine. We split up a few years ago on good terms and they moved west for job reasons.” 

“They sound like they were very nice. I had a girlfriend some time ago.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. What was she like?”

Nastya smiled softly, tracing the outline of the patch on her upper-arm with a gentle finger. “I do not remember much, but she was beautiful, warm, and sang with such a rich tone. She was a starship.”

“A starship?” Ama did not even try to mask her surprise. 

“Yes, a starship. I believe she was sentient.”

Ama nodded slowly, shaking her head with a smile. “Hot cocoa?”

“I would love some, thank you.”

* * *

Nastya spent the next morning fixing and upgrading Ama’s hovercraft, since the repairs she did the day she arrived were only temporary. The hovercraft did not speak to her in the way she remembered her love speaking, but she could hear it respond to her repairs in the way the engine hummed and in the gentle warmth of the metal. 

Stepping away from the hovercraft to view her handiwork, she wiped engine oil off her hands with a stray rag. She packed up the tools Ama lent her and peeked her head through the front door.

“Your hovercraft should be all fixed now,” she called into the house.

“Wonderful!” Ama replied from her bedroom. “Thank you so much!”

Closing the door, Nastya put on her coat that had previously been draped on her forearm. Since Ama would be busy working for the next few hours, Nastya opted to take a walk around the city. She had really only visited a few locations in the city and was excited to see the rest. The architecture and city planning intrigued her, as it was a strange mix of quaint, tudor style houses on the outskirts of the bustling city center and incredibly advanced technology when it came to vehicles. It was all a strange aesthetic choice, really.

Pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders as a brisk wind picked up, she strolled through the cobblestone streets, smiling at children playing tag in the streets. She cut through the outskirts of the city, making her way to its center. The strangely familiar tall, grey buildings grew in size as she got closer, as did the busy din of voices. 

Upon reaching the city center, she wove through crowds of people, her neck bent upwards as she admired the towering skyscrapers. Many posters and forms of signage riddled the smooth walls of the skyscrapers, advertising countless services and performances. One particular flyer caught her eye. The paper was slightly yellowed, made to suggest wear or something, and displayed the faces of eight strangely dressed people, all part of a band of some sort called The Mechanisms. The flyer felt painfully familiar–eliciting an intense pang of yearning she could not fully understand. 

The flyer listed The Mechanisms’ concert time as that night in the very pub that Nastya performed in. She scoffed quietly at the location; the pub owner had not informed her of another performance. Did the band just expect to show up and play? Nastya would have to have some words with them, strange melancholy and familiarity be damned. 

Noticing that she had several hours before the gig, she continued to explore the city center, hurrying into the first bookstore she could find.

* * *

Nastya arrived at the pub slightly late, as she got thoroughly distracted at the bookstore and lost track of time. The pub was packed and the lights were dimmed by the time she arrived, though the band seemed to only be a few minutes into their introductions. 

As soon as Nastya spotted the face of the lead singer, she was overcome with a feeling of familiarity–but there was something more. She could remember him. She could remember him and his awful amount of belts, and all the guns he kept on his person despite his terrible aim, and the little bottle of whiskey in his left breast pocket, and the deck of cards he liked to keep in his vest, and finally his name. Jonny D’Ville. The fucking first mate. She wore his shirt; she had stolen it from him long, long ago and he never tried to take it back. 

She turned her gaze to the rest of the band members. There was the flutist. Nastya remembered all of her books and how on the rare occasion that Nastya hugged her, she smelled of old books. Nastya remembered how she would sit in a pile of blankets and octokittens in the library. Ivy Alexandria, the quiet archivist. 

Next, she saw the wooden soldier. She remembered how it laughed, clean and crisp and always so genuine, and how it was always so happy to spend time with her, and all the wonderful tea parties they had together. Most of all, Nastya remembered its voice–the voice of an angel. The weird Toy Soldier.

The guitarist stood next to the Toy Soldier. Nastya could remember all of his guns, especially the ones he added to the ship (Nastya had brutally murdered him for that), and the deafening sound of one of his explosions that he was ever so proud of going off on the bridge, and the time she spent with him while they each built or repaired something in silence. Gunpowder Tim, the fucking gunner.

She saw the bassist next, and she could remember their fire, and their compassion, and their cunning, and most of all, how they were a dirty cheater in cards. Ashes O’Reilly, the…quartermaster.

Next to Ashes was the violinist. Another one. Nastya chuckled when she saw him; she could remember playful competition, and seemingly never-ending arguments regarding violins, and his failed attempts at psychoanalysis. Marius von Raum, the broken (though she did not know why he would be considered that) doctor. 

The pianist stood behind Ashes, ethereal wings fluttering behind her. Nastya could remember discussing science with her, and the strange and esoteric conversations they had in the late hours of the night, and the experiments they performed on octokittens together. Raphaella la Cognizi, the “weird look in her eye” scientist. 

Finally, her gaze fixed on the drummer. She could remember holding long, rambling conversations with him, and helping with routine touch-ups, and discussing engineering, and how he taught Nastya how to cook fancy meals. Drumbot Brian, the weird pilot. 

Tears of joy threatened to fall as Nastya watched The Mechanisms–her crew–perform. She could hear where her violin parts were missing from the songs, and she hummed them along as they performed their story. The words to all the songs came back to her in an instant, and she had to fight the urge to push through the crowd and run up onstage to perform with her crew and bandmates. She would be with them again in a matter of moments though, that she knew. 

It was all so perfect! What were the chances that the crew would land on the strange planet Nastya found herself on? Perhaps they had searched for her after the accident that separated her from the rest of the crew. Nastya stopped her excitement for a moment. She still could not remember how she ended up on this planet, nor could she remember the events leading up to it. Though it was frustrating in the moment, she knew that all she had to do was ask one of her crewmates, and she would find out. 

She watched the rest of the concert, humming along enthusiastically and joining in at the end with Drunk Space Pirate. As soon as the applause died down, she hurried to the alley behind the pub, following the crew members as they left. She saw Tim first, and hurried over to him. 

“Tim!” She exclaimed, catching Tim’s attention, but not the rest of the crew’s, as they were significantly far in front of him. 

“Nastya?” he replied, incredulous. “That can’t be you.”

“Yes, it’s me!” She hurried over to him and wrapped him in a hug. “I’ve missed you all so much. I forgot everything–all of you! I still don’t know how I got here or what could have led to me landing on a foreign planet with no memories, but I remember all of you now, and I can finally go home.”

Tim patted her back, his shoulders strangely tense. “It’s great to see you back, Nastya. It really is. What do you mean by ‘you forgot everything’, though?”

“I genuinely forgot everything!” She chuckled, releasing Tim from the hug. “I woke up here a few days ago with absolutely no memories! I only remembered all of you as soon as I saw you perform.”

“Oh wow, that’s–that’s really crazy!” Tim exclaimed. “Well it’s great to have you back!”

He looked uneasy, though Nastya had no idea why. Perhaps he was worried for her. Losing all your memories usually is not a good thing, even if you get them back eventually. She looked past Tim to see the back of Jonny’s head, walking with the rest of the crew. She gave Tim one last pat on the shoulder and hurried towards the group, placing her hand on Jonny’s as soon as she approached him. 

“Hello Jonny,” she said, grinning wildly as she met his gaze when he swivelled around to face her. “I missed you all so much! As I was telling Tim, I had forgotten everything, but I remember almost everything now–just not the bit right before I lost all of you. I’m so happy to see you again! I’m so happy to see my brother.”

Jonny tugged his hand out of Nastya’s grasp and forced a smile. “It’s good to see you back,” he said, though Nastya would have expected him to be a bit more excited. “I’m headed back to the ship. You’re coming, I guess?”

“Of course I am,” she replied, reaching for Jonny’s hand again, only to have Jonny take a step backwards. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Dunno.” 

Nastya furrowed her brows in confusion, but followed closely behind Jonny. Something was not quite right, but she did not have the foggiest idea as to why. With a small shake of her head, she focused on seeing her love again. That would surely make everything better. 

Soon, Nastya could make out the outline of the ship in the distance, and all at once, memories of her love came back to her, as they had with her crew members. She could remember long nights in space spent cuddled tight in her love’s warm vents, and she could remember how they would speak to each other in a language that only they knew, and she remembered joking gossip and bedtime stories, and countless repair, and the kisses she’d leave on wires after soldering them, and the lines of code that formed love poems, and the enveloping and majestic sound of her love’s singing. She remembered her love, Aurora, or  _ Ara _ , the name Nastya would whisper to her in secret. Nastya was so filled with love for her, she could not understand how she’d spent these past few days without her. 

She wrapped her coat tighter around her shoulders, fighting the chill of the evening and jogged over to Aurora, arriving at the main ramp before the other mechs walked over. Filled with joy at the sight of her girlfriend, she placed her palm to the entrance ramp. Aurora did not open the door. She did not even respond. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to Kris from the mechscord for the pet-name Nastya uses for Aurora!


	4. Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is finished! wooooo!!! so this is actually my longest completed fic which is pretty funky!  
> also, if I had a nickel for every fic I wrote with Out open in another tab, I'd have 10 cents, which isn't much, but it's pretty sad that it's happened twice.  
> Also, one day I'm gonna write a fic that isn't Nastya centric. I'll do it. (this is a lie, I probably won't)

Nastya pressed her palm to Aurora’s entrance ramp again. Perhaps her touch had been too light the first time. With a cold shudder, the sliding door opened and Nastya’s face broke into a grin until she saw Jonny a few feet to the left of her with his hand on one of Aurora’s walls. Panic began to build in her core; she had a connection with Aurora, this she knew. Perhaps when she lost her memories of Aurora, Aurora did so as well, vicariously? She hurried up the ramp before Jonny could enter, following hallways that she knew so well down to the engine room. As soon as she saw the closed door, she placed her hand on it with a bated breath, dreading what she knew was inevitable. She was right. The door did not open. Aurora’s lights did not flicker. 

“Aurora?” Nastya kept her hand on the door, her voice quiet and affectionate. “Love, can you hear me?”

She was met with silence. 

“Please, love. I have missed you so much, and though I don’t know how long I have been away, I can promise you that I’ve missed you for every second of our separation.”

“She’s not going to talk to you.” Jonny’s voice boomed in the echoey hallway. He made his point and turned to leave again. 

“Jonny wait!” Nastya cried out, reaching for his wrist, but Jonny wrenched it out of her grasp. “What is wrong? I don’t know how long I’ve been gone, but I missed you all so much. Why won’t anyone talk to me?”

“It obviously doesn’t matter to you anymore,” he hissed. “Now I’m going to bed. I’m sure there’s an open pod for you.”

“You can’t just leave me without an explanation!” Nastya called to Jonny’s back. “What did I do?”

“Just leave me the fuck alone. It’s what you wanted anyway.”

“Jonny, wait-” 

Nastya threw her head back in frustration, sinking down to the ground. It wasn’t her fault that she got stranded on a planet without any of her memories! It wasn’t her fault that she abandoned the crew. It simply couldn’t be. She grabbed the phone she picked up on the planet from her pocket, intending to text Ama that she wouldn’t be returning. But she began to consider the option of staying on the planet; if everyone suddenly seemed to hate her, would that not be the better option? No. Mechanisms did not leave the crew behind on purpose, right? Nodding to herself, she sent Ama a text and pocketed the phone. 

“Aurora?” she whispered in Cyberian, turning to face the engine room door. “I can not remember what happened before I disappeared, but since I awoke on this planet, I have been doing nothing but missing you. Even when I could not recall your name, I missed you. I am so sorry that I can not apologize for whatever I did, but simply can not remember.”

The engine room door hissed open, and Nastya’s heart pounded in response. Stepping into the engine room, she had to hug her shoulders to fight the shiver that went down her spine in response to the cold. As soon as she entered, she was met with a large screen crackling to life. Displayed in front of her was camera footage of an airlock, the image distorting slightly due to the camera’s quality. 

The first few minutes displayed only an empty airlock until a dark figure emerged in the corner. As the figure continued into the range of the camera, Nastya could make out long brown hair and a long black coat. As soon as the camera caught a shot of the patch on the jacket’s upper arm, Nastya hissed in a breath. She was the figure. She expected this quick glimpse into her past action to be enough to trigger the memory, but nothing came, and she was left watching the video replay with bated breath and terrified curiosity. 

She saw that the image of herself was clutching something close to her chest, but the quality of the video was not sharp enough for her to discern its identity. Her past self squeezed her eyes shut and placed a hand on the airlock’s lever, preparing for the cold bite of the void. A mere second before she could pull the lever, a shot rang out, a bullet burying itself in Nastya’s arm–the one that grasped the lever. She muttered a Cyberian curse under her breath, her other arm flying to grasp the wound as silver blood dripped onto the floor. 

“Nastya?” Jonny asked, lowering his gun. 

Nastya shuddered upon hearing Jonny say her name with the amount of affection she had come to know. He had been so cold since she returned, and she was beginning to put the pieces together unto why.

“Hello, Jonny,” her image in the video replied, a melancholy smile on her face. 

Nastya watched her past self and Jonny stare uncomfortably at each other for a moment before Jonny reached for whatever Nastya had dropped. A piece of plating. From the video, Nastya could hear Aurora creak and moan in response to Jonny grabbing the plating, but Nastya’s past self did not seem to notice. 

“Give that back!” Her past self cried, making a reach for the plating, but grimacing in pain as she jostled her gunshot wound. Aurora creaked louder, but Nastya still took no notice. 

“What the hell are you up to?” Jonny asked. “Going somewhere?”

“Out.”

“Uh-uh. That’s not a good enough answer. It’s not really an answer at all, and I’m going to need a whole explanation before I give you this…hunk of junk back. Come on. Where are you going?” Aurora hummed in response to Jonny’s question, seconding his request. 

“I told you. Out. I don’t know where. Somewhere else.” As Nastya watched the video, she grew more and more appalled at how she ignored Aurora’s desperate cries for her to stay. She knew that she had blocked them out completely when she had decided to leave, but now that she could hear Aurora’s words, it was all she could do not to break down sobbing. 

“But we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere!” Nastya’s image merely shrugged, her face perfectly passive and nonchalant. “Okay then. You can be a mysterious fucking cable fucker if you want. When are you coming back?”

“Probably won't.” At this point, Aurora’s cries became deafening, filling the airlock with mournful pleading that Jonny would not be able to hear, yet it was a sound that Nastya managed to block out completely. 

Nastya watched herself snatch the piece of plating–Aurora’s last original plating–back from Jonny and calmly step out of the airlock and into the void, leaving Jonny to gawk at the spot where she had stood minutes ago. When the airlock shut with a click, Aurora’s cries became audible to the whole crew–a shriek of grief that shook the entire ship. And the video cut out.

Nastya stared at the now blank screen in shock. Yes, she did sorely regret what she did and she wished that she had taken time to talk out her issues with Aurora, but she understood her choice nonetheless. She had not felt at home on the Aurora for many decades prior, and she had seen her end. She had seen a future where she died quietly in a cold engine room in a silent ship, unknown to her lover. By taking Aurora’s last plating and flinging herself into the void, she took her end into her own hands–but it did not actually spell her end. It gave her another chance–one that she wasn’t sure she deserved. 

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, contemplating on what she could possibly say to Aurora in order to apologize. It was hard. Simply put, apologizing for abandoning Aurora so completely and being so deaf to Aurora’s pleas for her to stay was hard. 

“I forgot everything for a while, you know?” she whispered. “I forgot everything, but even without distinct memories, I still loved you. I left because I feared that you were in a similar situation–that you had forgotten so much that you were no longer the Aurora I knew and fell in love with. I failed to realize, at the time, that the love we share can not be changed with time or the fallibility of memory, so I apologize. I am truly, and deeply sorry for making such a rash decision without taking time to speak to you or to try and understand how you felt.”

_ You didn’t listen to me _ , Aurora told Nastya in Cyberian.  _ I called for you. I pleaded for you to stay, and you didn’t listen. I even asked you what was wrong in the days leading up to it and you refused to answer.  _

“For that, there is no excuse,” Nastya admitted, sighing. “I was preparing to make a very drastic decision, and I did not want anything to get in the way of me and my plan. I am so sorry, Aurora. You have done nothing wrong and I still left you.”

_ You did.  _ Aurora’s tone was final, but Nastya could hear the deep sadness in her hums.  _ But I missed you so much. I tried to be mad at you, Nastya. I thought that if I screamed loud enough and shut down all my systems, I could be angry at you. But instead, I was only scared for you. _

“I apologize for scaring you, Aurora. I made a terrible mistake, but, if you would allow me to, I would like to stay here with you, my love. I have quite a few people to apologize to, don’t I?”

_ Of course you can stay here, Nastya.  _ Aurora hummed softly, warmth returning to the engine room.  _ I am still hurt, but I believe that if we continue to talk to each other, we can work through this. _

“You are completely correct, love.” Nastya placed her hand on the control console, smiling as Aurora hummed happily. “As much as I would like to stay here longer with you, I really should speak to the rest of the crew.”

_ You certainly should.  _ Aurora opened the engine room door for her.  _ I love you Nastya. _

“I love you too.” 

* * *

Nastya found Jonny in the kitchen, his hand resting on a bottle of whiskey. He did not look up when Nastya entered the room, but muttered something under his breath and took a swig from the bottle instead. 

“Hello, Jonny,” Nastya said, leaning on the kitchen counter. “Aurora showed me what happened.”

“She showed you how you tried to leave for good without telling anyone?” Jonny’s voice dripped with anger. “She showed you how you fucking betrayed me without a second thought?”

Nastya pressed her lips together, taking a moment to form her words. “I am so sorry, Jonny. I was wrong–”

“Yeah, no shit you were wrong.” Jonny slammed the bottle onto the table with a fierce thud. “I see that Aurora’s forgiven you,” he gestured vaguely at the walls surrounding him, “but I have no fucking clue why she would.”

“You’re right. I should not have betrayed my brother.”

“Don’t  _ do  _ that right now, Nastya. Come on. After everything we’ve been through together, after all of Carmilla’s experiments, and all of the planets we’ve pillaged, and–just  _ everything _ , you thought you could leave me without saying shit?”

“I felt like I had no choice,” Nastya muttered, her gaze fixed on the floor. “I sensed my end. I know we’ve all seen our respective deaths, but the fate I saw for myself was too painful to let happen. I had to do  _ something _ .”

“What the fuck, Nastya.” Jonny’s hand dropped from the neck of his bottle and onto the table. “Why didn’t you tell me? If you’d just told me, we could have done something about it.”

“We don’t dabble in each others’ deaths, Jonny. You know this.”

“But we’re an exception!” Jonny sucked in a breath and continued, quieter this time. “What did you sense?”

“I was alone and cold. Painfully familiar, really. I would have died all alone in the engine room, but it truly would not have been Aurora’s engine room.”

“I–shit. Come here.” Jonny gestured for Nastya to sit next to him. 

Nastya offered him a small smile and slipped behind the table, nestling up close to him. 

“If you had just told me…” he murmured, pressing his face into Nastya’s shoulder. “God, Nastya. We’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen, okay? Aurora and I will make sure.”

“I think it’s different now, Jonny.” Nastya wrapped her arm around Jonny’s shoulders. “I think Aurora and I are safe.”

“If you say so. Just tell me next time. I know neither of us really want to…talk about these things, but if they’re that big, I need to know.”

“I understand. But you have to promise to do the same.”

Jonny chuckled quietly. “Yeah, okay. I promise.”

Nastya hummed in response and rested her head on top of Jonny’s, sitting comfortably with him in silence. They sat together, just enjoying each other’s company for ages. Finally, Jonny turned slightly to face Nastya.

“You should say hello to the rest of the crew probably,” Jonny suggested.

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea.” Nastya rose from her seat, shuffling out from behind the table and following Jonny into the crew’s main room. 

“Nastya’s back!” Jonny announced, pushing her playfully into the main room. “And she’s staying for good!”

“That I am,” she chuckled, waving at the rest of the crew. 

“We missed you a lot, Nastya,” Ashes said, rising from their seat and pulling her into a hug. “It really isn’t the same without you.”

“I missed you all too. And I promise I won’t be leaving again.”

“Oh I see you’ve gotten caught up on everything then!” Tim exclaimed happily. “Well it’s good that everything’s worked out. Don’t check the retrofits on the guns, please.”

Nastya raised an eyebrow, sighing. “I swear to god, Tim. This happens every time I leave!”

Tim burst into a hearty laugh, turning to the cabinet in the corner of the room and pulling out several glasses and bottles of alcohol. The crew all reached for glasses and poured themselves drinks, quickly breaking into an impromptu party. Hours passed, full of music and gossip, catching Nastya up on centuries worth of arguments and adventures. The crew devolved into singing, each of them reaching for their respective instruments (save Jonny, who stood on the arm of the couch and sang the loudest). The songs finally sounded complete with Nastya’s parts adding the appropriate harmonies and rhythmic complexity; hearing the songs she had been slowly remembering completed was enough to bring Nastya to tears. 

As the music began to die down, Nastya gave each crew member a hug before retreating to the engine room, trailing her finger on Aurora’s panelling as she did so. Aurora opened the engine room door for her, a blanket pile waiting in the corner. 

“I think I’m going to go to bed, love,” she said, shrugging off her coat, untying her boots, and easing herself into the blanket pile. “Would you tell me a bedtime story?”

Aurora hummed happily in response, beginning a story of two lovers on a far off planet. Nastya let her eyes slip closed as she focused on Aurora’s sweet voice. Yes, it was a little different than the voice she had come to know, and yes, the engine room was just a little colder than it used to be, but their love did not rely on memory, right?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes I did just just quote like 80% of Out, what about it? Now I gotta actually start the fic I need to write for the zine oh god

**Author's Note:**

> this was going to be one chapter. then it wasn't. oh well.


End file.
